EMACIATION

Evening Star, Issue 25619, 20 October 1945, Page 10

EMACIATION

[Written by “ X.Y.,” for the ‘ Evening Star.’] “ The great Duke of Wellington Reduced himself to a skellington.” My Doctor tells me I must 14 slim, And doubtless he is right. I’m sure it will enrapture him To see my fig-. Ure (now so big) ’Twas willowy and slight. He’s given me a lengthy list Of things I must not eat, Whereof the essence and the gist Is plain enough— No starchy stuff, No fat, and little meat. So now I live on wholemeal bread, To mitigate my size. Potatoes are prohibited, Fried things must go, And likewise (blew!) My wife’s long suit—viz., pies. I will not bother you with all The things I must renounce, To make my portly form grow small, And make it weigh Less every day, If only ounce by ounce. There seems to be some sense in it. Six weeks have come and gone, And I have lost a tidy bit, Reducing thus My overplus By something like a stone. Well, well, my weight’s diminishing Appreciably fast; But now, about this dieting— I’m wondering now Exactly how Much longer it must last. For horrid dreams and visions haunt My mind, that I must soon Grow lantern-iawed and lean and gaunt, A skeleton, Just skin and bone, And wrinkled like a prune. This suit —I bought it last July And shuddered at its cost — Will it, before the year’s gone by, Be just a wrap To hang and flap Around a meagre ghost? Wherefore I vow by this and that, Lest I should pine away, I’ll run the risk of growing fat, And tell you this— I shall not miss My feed on Christmas Day!